


A Quaint Notion

by lyn452



Series: Jonerys Valentine Event 2020 - Leather and Lace Edition [5]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Arranged Marriage, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22794328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyn452/pseuds/lyn452
Summary: Lace | Arranged/Fake Marriage - The nouveau riche marrying an impoverished noble is nothing new, but Jon and Daenerys both think that this time it may be different.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Jonerys Valentine Event 2020 - Leather and Lace Edition [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634287
Comments: 23
Kudos: 155





	A Quaint Notion

Love in a marriage was a quaint notion. Jon’s mother certainly didn’t love his father. But then Jon could barely stand Robert Baratheon, so he didn’t expect his mother to love him either. He’d been her brother’s best friend and had had good prospects, and that had been enough for Lyanna Stark. It had certainly been enough for her family.

But Jon had seen how unhappy his mother was married to an ogre. Seven hells, he often thought his father was probably just as miserable underneath all the jovial behavior. Jon had always sworn that he wouldn’t make the same mistake. That he would love the woman he married.

Yet here he was, on his wedding day to a woman he’d never even met. She had the right name, the right titles, and that was all that seemed to matter to anyone else. Jon hadn’t even had a chance to protest and when he did, his mother had just held his cheek and said, “Oh my love, my darling boy, I know how you feel. But feelings don’t much matter in marriage and duty.” Jon hadn’t had the heart to continue protesting, knowing that his mother had gone so far as to run away from her marriage, only to have her eldest brother drag her back and threaten to kill her if she didn’t go through with it.

Jon didn’t doubt for a second that his own father would hold him at gunpoint if necessary to get him married to Daenerys Targaryen. All the money in the world couldn’t buy Robert Baratheon the right bloodline, but such things had never stopped him before and he’d have been damned if it stopped him now. 

So Jon kept his mouth shut as he rode in the carriage with his mother. He resisted the urge to pull on his too tight and stuffed collar. Instead he looked out the window to watch a bluebird fly. There was little wind today so the bird only pumped its wings enough to keep it in the air. Jon wondered what it was like to fly. 

The thought stayed with him until the carriage stopped. Jon stepped out first and then held out a hand for his mother. The gentlemanly manners didn’t come naturally. (His father certainly didn’t follow any kind of manners.) But since the engagement had been announced Jon had been forced into etiquette and dancing classes. The classes alone made him question this whole marriage endeavor. 

The Targaryen manor was old but had clearly been grand at some point. It was made of black stone and featured two snarling dragons at its front gates. His mother whispered in his ear, “Dragonstone, that’s what the Targaryen manor is called. It’s all that’s left of their fortune, I’ve heard.”

Jon was under no illusions about the Targaryens’ money problems. It was the only reason this marriage was even being considered. Otherwise a commoner like Jon would never be considered worthy enough for the only daughter of the Targaryens, who descended from royalty.

Though Jon remembered his grandmother insisting she had Targaryen blood in her veins. Bastard blood but Targaryen nevertheless. It was an old Baratheon tale, his mother had told him. They’d been claiming for centuries they were descended from the royal house. Whether there was any truth to it, no one knew or cared to find out. 

A noise made Jon turn his eyes away from the imposing house. Jon could tell his father was about to get out of his carriage because it rocked back and forth. He was embarrassed by his father’s weight. He’d been told Robert Baratheon had been a handsome man in his youth, much like Jon himself.

Jon never understood why people thought that was a compliment.

Robert Baratheon climbed out of the carriage with the grace of an elephant. He was red-faced and out of breath from just the struggle of getting out of the carriage. Jon had to repress the look of disgust he wanted to shoot his father. 

“Come on, boy,” Robert barked as he strode to the entrance. “Let’s get you married.” He glanced at Jon. “And don’t look so sour. Your bride is a pretty enough girl.”

Jon repressed the urge to sigh. It was all his father would tell him about his future wife, probably the only thing his father knew about her. She was pretty. As if that was the only piece of information Jon could possibly want to know about the woman he was about to marry. 

It was probably the only thing Robert Baratheon had cared about when he married Lyanna Stark. Jon’s mother gripped his arm slightly to encourage him. Jon loved his mother dearly and hoped Daenerys would be amenable to having her live with them. It was the best thing about this marriage as far as Jon could see; it was a chance for him and his mother to escape his boorish father. 

He walked up to the massive wooden doors as a man walked to his execution. A black man entered the door, glaring at the family on the stoop. Jon eyes immediately went to the man’s close cropped hair. Strange, he thought, idly wondering if a recent bout of lice had gone through the Targaryen household.

Jon’s hand went to his hair. It was his one vanity. 

“Move aside, boy,” Robert attempted to brush the man aside, but he got in Robert’s way instead. The man stood ramrod straight, almost like a soldier. Robert stared him down, in a way that usually made men step aside, but this one didn’t move.

“We’re expected,” Lyanna broke in to end the standoff. “The Baratheons.”

The servant nodded and opened the door fully, escorting them in. Lyanna smiled, giving her best lady impression, “Thank you, Mr…?”

“My name is Grey Worm,” the man said crisply, before nearly marching in front of them, leading them deeper into the manor, which Jon noticed was quite dusty. Though the old furniture decorating looked better quality than what was in the Baratheon estate. 

“Grey Worm,” Robert snorted. “What kind of name is that?”

“My masters called me George, but I never cared for it. So I took my own,” Grey Worm explained.

“Should’ve stuck with George. It’s a good English name,” Robert said.

“Masters?” Lyanna questioned.

“I was purchased on Lady Daenerys’ last trip to America. She went around to many plantations buying and freeing all the slaves she could until she was no longer welcome in Georgia.” Grey Worm looked proud, and Jon couldn’t blame him. So his future wife was the savior type.

He tended that way himself, he wondered if it would make a good marriage or a terrible one.

“Well, no wonder the Targaryens are broke. Wasting their money on tripe like that.”

Grey Worm scowled while Jon and Lyanna gave Robert matching angry scowls. Grey Worm added haughtily, “Lady Daenerys works with the British and Foreign Anti-Slavery Society to help further the cause as best she can from this side of the ocean.”

“Women should have a hobby.” Robert looked at Jon. “You might want to force her into a less ambitious one though. No point in filling women’s heads with silly notions about making the world a better place. Next she’ll become one of those silly suffragettes.” 

“I think it’s admirable work,” Jon said.

Grey Worm led them to some double doors and opened them both to a parlor room where a man sat reading a book. He looked up at the opening doors, and his eyes widened at the sight of the Baratheon family. Jon wasn’t sure why. They were expected. 

Grey Worm announced them formally, but the man was already on his feet. Jon was surprised by the man’s strange features, deep indigo eyes and platinum blond hair. His eyes were drawn to Jon’s mother, which Jon turned and was surprised to find that his mother was returning the longing look. “Lyanna,” the man said, before taking her hand and deeply bowing to kiss it. 

“Rhaegar,” Lyanna whispered. 

Robert’s burly, and Jon suspected a bit of anger beneath it, voice broke the moment, “Rhaegar Targaryen. Heard you had to lock up that father of yours in the madhouse.” 

The man’s features tightened immediately as he turned to face Robert Baratheon. “Hello, Robert. How are you on this fine day?”

“Nothing fine about it,” Robert pushed past Rhaegar, intentionally hitting the more slender men, causing him to stumble back a bit. Rather than apologize, Robert sat down with a grunt, taking the spot Rhaegar had been occupying. “It’s rainy and one of the horses threw a damned shoe getting over here.”

Jon wanted to point out to his father that he certainly wasn’t wet, so it wasn’t like he’d done anything to fix that situation. He held out a hand to allow his mother to take a seat and sat next to her. Luckily, in stealing Rhaegar’s spot, Robert had taken the only chair in the room. 

“That’s unfortunate. Grey Worm here might be able to help.” He gestured to the man still standing at the doorway.

Robert glanced at him before he said, “I don’t think I need your darkie’s help.”

Rhaegar looked as though he swallowed something sour and dismissed Grey Worm with a wave of his hand. He took a deep breath.

Robert bent over and looked at the book Rhaegar had been reading. “What’s this?”

“It’s the latest Hugo novel. Have you read it?”

Jon snorted, drawing attention to himself, but he didn’t regret it. He’d never seen his father read anything more than an accounting sheet. “Hugo,” Robert spit on the floor. “Bloody French make me sick. If you must read, you should stick to good English authors.”

“I think it’s important to broaden one’s horizons,” Rhaegar said thoughtfully.

“Oh, yes. Speaking of that, where’s that Spanish wife of yours?” Jon often thought he was immune to being embarrassed by his father’s poor manners, but then his father would always remind him that that simply wasn’t true.

“Elia is in bed, I’m afraid. Terrible migraine.”

Lyanna cut off whatever rude comment her husband might have made by asking, “And the children?”

“They are both away at university.”

Robert said, “Even the girl? What are you wasting your money filling their heads with all that book learning? They should get a job and a husband. Learn what real life is all about. You got a fancy degree and you wound up poorer than I am.”

Jon thought that point could be debated, but Rhaegar turned to him at that moment. “So Jon, does that mean you didn’t receive any higher learning?”

Robert answered before Jon could get a word out. “Higher Learning. He received the best education there is: work. I’ve had him helping me out with the business since he was a lad. He’s been keeping books and working with that strong back of his, like a real man.”

Jon could feel the red seep up his neck, going past his high, stiff collar. Before his father could make it worse, he asked, “Did your daughter go to university?” 

Rhaegar looked confused for a moment before recognition dawned on him. “You mean Daenerys? No, she was too busy saving the world. And she is my sister not my daughter.”

It seemed Jon didn’t need his father to embarrass him, he could do it quite well himself. He began to apologize, but Rhaegar cut him off. “Don’t worry. It’s a common mistake. I’ve been acting as her guardian for most of her life.” Jon didn’t know how to ask the question, but his face must have done it for him, as Rhaegar explained further. “Our mother died giving birth to Daenerys and our father was...incapable of taking care of her most of the time.”

“He was loonier than a goose, I think you mean.” Robert was eyeing the liquor cabinet in the corner of the room now. 

Rhaegar clearly struggled to hold back his feelings as he announced. “I should fetch Daenerys, so that you might meet your fiance.” He turned on his boot-heel and exited the room. 

Lyanna’s anger at her husband was immediate, as he got up to help himself to a drink. Robert grumbled, “He didn’t even offer us a drink. Rude, he is. Tagaryens always did think themselves so high and mighty.” He poured a generous amount of what Jon assumed to be scotch into a crystal glass.

“Rhaegar was rude? Robert, you’re lucky he didn’t throw us out after your behavior.”

Robert snorted, sitting down again. “He can’t afford to.”

“Still, there was no need to needle him about his father. You know it pains him.”

Robert’s anger burst out as he yelled, “I don’t know anything about that man except that he pretends to be better than everybody else, but he’s the one with a father in the madhouse and a brother sending them to the poorhouse with his gambling and whoring.”

Jon had heard none of this before. What kind of family was he marrying into? “Robert,” Lyanna hissed. “That’s enough.”

“I don’t mind the gambling and whoring so much. It’s only natural. But a man’s got to know his limits.” Robert finished his drink in one long gulp and then got up to fix himself another. It might have been the most exercise he’d gotten in years.

Jon only hoped his father would get drunk quickly and sleep through most of the wedding and the following dinner. It might be the only way to make this day bearable. 

* * *

Elia held her red wine in one hand as she supervised Missandei’s efforts to make Daenerys look “devastating” in the woman’s own words. Elia insisted on drinking only Spanish wine, despite Rhaegar protesting the cost. But she simply had her brothers pay for it. “It’s bad enough I must suffer English food. They wouldn’t force me to have that grape juice you call wine as well.”

She pointed at one of the braids pinned to Daenerys’ head. “That one’s drooping.”

Missandei went to fix it and Daenerys struggled not to fidget. “Is all this really necessary?”

“Of course it is,” Elia said. “You only get one chance to make a first impression, Dany. You must burn an image in his mind that he’ll never forget. So when he starts getting a wandering eye later in the marriage, he’ll at least remember that first moment and why he married you in the first place.”

Daenerys looked at herself in the mirror. She knew she was pretty, but she didn’t think she could ever be devastating. She said, “Not all men get a wandering eye after being married for awhile.”

“Oh yes, they do.” Elia said it with such certainty that Daenerys almost let it drop there. 

“Rhaegar didn’t,” Daenerys pointed out.

Elia didn’t comment. Instead she finished her wine and went to fetch the bottle. “Either of you ladies want to join me? It is a joyous day after all.”

Daenerys frowned as Missandei politely declined. “Isn’t it a little early for that? There will be champagne later.”

“If you knew Robert Baratheon, you would know that I’m being quite practical in alcohol consumption.” 

Daenerys, pleased with how she looked in the mirror, nodded to Missandei and then turned to let her fasten the stays on Daenerys’ corset so she could put on the dress she’d bought specially for today. Actually she’d gotten two dresses. One to meet her husband and one to marry him in. “If the father’s so bad then why am I marrying the son?”

Elia dismissed it with a wave of her hand, “Rhaegar said the boy takes after the mother. And with your brother spending the entirety of his inheritance and then some, it’s an unfortunate truth that we need the money.” 

Daenerys finished dressing, which earned a smile from Missandei and a gasp from Elia. “Devastating, Daenerys. You look absolutely devastating.” 

Missandei softly agreed, “You look very pretty, Miss Dany.”

Daenerys turned and saw her reflection in the mirror. She had to admit, she did look quite good. The dress was red with black lace, which Elia had reassured her wasn’t too much for a daytime look. Her silver braids framed her face well and violet eyes shone, despite Daenerys’ sadness. She wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to get married, but Rhaegar had asked her, and how could she deny the brother who’d done everything for her? 

A soft knock on the door sounded and she heard Rhaegar ask, “Are you decent, Dany?”

“Come in,” Daenerys said, turning so that her brother could see the efforts of their hard work. 

His eyes brightened at the sight of her and he smiled, a rare sight, “You look stunning, Dany.” He crossed the room to kiss her cheek, before whispering, “As pretty as mother.”

The compliment made Daenerys grin. She had a portrait of Rhaella Targaryen next to her bed, having always thought her mother was the most beautiful woman who’d ever lived. How she wished she would have met her. How Daenerys wished that her mother could be here on her wedding day to give her advice.

Not that Daenerys didn’t appreciate who she did have with her, Missandei was more friend than servant, and Daenerys admired the woman greatly. The woman had wrote an article under pseudonym that had been a sensation in both this country and the States that had painfully detailed the horrors of slavery. Missandei had more bravery and intelligence than anyone else Daenerys knew.

And Elia wasn’t quite a mother to Daenerys, but family all the same. Daenerys loved her dearly. 

Not to mention, her brother, Rhaegar who took Daenerys in when Aerys and Viserys weren’t capable of taking care of her. He took care of her all her life and Daenerys hate being such a burden on him. If nothing else, at least this marriage meant that she would at least no longer be his worry.

She only hoped that Jon would be a kind husband like her brother was. She watched as he sweetly kissed Elia’s forehead. She asked, “So does Robert Baratheon still have the manners of a boar?”

“You know, I think he’s actually gotten worse.” Rhaegar pinched between his eyes and Elia took another long drink of wine. “He’s lucky I’m not here looking for the old Targaryen dueling pistols.” 

“I suppose I must go down now and play hostess.” 

“I told them you were sick with a migraine, so you can skip the whole thing if you’d like.”

Elia smiled softly and touched Rhaegar’s arm. “You are a sweet husband.” But then something in her gaze hardened in a way Daenerys had never seen before. “How’d Lyanna look? Is she still a wild beauty?” 

Rhaegar looked away, seemingly interested in a bare wall. “She looked well.”

“I can’t miss the wedding,” Elia proclaimed. She hooked her arm fully in Rhaegar’s. “And you’ve suffered alone for long enough.” 

Daenerys wondered about the exchange, but the couple departed and Daenerys knew she’d be expected to follow. She looked to Missandei, who gave her a look of sympathy, as she handed Daenerys her fan. 

Daenerys hated the play she would be forced for the rest of the afternoon. Pretending to be some simpering fool so that Jon Baratheon might feel like a big man. She followed her brother and his wife, like a woman about to go to the gallows.

Missandei took her hand, squeezing it. Daenerys smiled at her friend. Missandei had faced far worse and came out the other side. Daenerys could face this. 

They walked into the parlor and Daenerys looked around, trying to find her future husband. 

She was horrified to find the only man in the room was a fat, old man who seemed to be determined to be drunk as quickly as possible. Daenerys’ eyes shot to her brother. What exactly had he signed her up for?

Elia smiled tightly, “Hello, Robert. You’re looking well.” 

Daenerys knew most wouldn’t pick up on the slight sarcasm, but she did and it made her smirk. The man took Elia’s hand and slobbered on it more than kissed it. “Elia, pretty as ever.”

She gave another tight smile until turning the woman on the couch. “Lyanna.”

“Elia,” the pretty woman on the couch acknowledged. Daenerys wondered why they seemed so cool towards each other. Before she could wonder too long, the woman stood up and walked over to her. “You must be Daenerys.”

“Yes,” Daenerys forced a smile. 

Lyanna’s hand came up to cup Daenerys’ chin. Her grey eyes looked over Daenerys critically before she said, “You are a stunning creature.” She dropped her hand. “You’ll match Jon well.”

Daenerys wanted to bite back, “Is that all a marriage is, a good matching set?” She looked around the room once more and then asked pointedly, “Has your son run away? I don’t think we can have a wedding without his presence.”

Robert’s eyes narrowed at her, “Watch your tone, lass.” He came over and hugged her, which made Daenerys shoot a look to Missandei who seemed just as taken aback by his forwardness. He held her for a moment too long before stepping back. “Don’t look so frightened, girl. We’re about to be family after all.”

His leer and the hand still on her told Daenerys just how friendly he might be towards his new “daughter.” She needed to get out of this room now. She turned to Lyanna. “Where did Jon go?”

“Oh, he wanders. You’ll just have to get used to that habit.”

Daenerys took a deep breath in and out to cool her anger, before leaving the room, with Missandei trailing behind.

Because despite their wedding night only being a few hours away, Daenerys and Jon couldn’t possibly be alone without a chaperone. 

* * *

Jon’s hands ran across the grand piano. It was a stunning instrument. One he’d always wanted to play, but his father would never let him. “A waste of time and poofter’s habit beside” that’s what his father had said when Jon had asked for lessons.

Jon had quickly learned there was no use in asking his father for anything. If he wanted something he had to make it happen for himself. It might have been the only good thing Robert Baratheon had ever done for his son. 

He pushed on a piano key and found the instrument was in tune. Jon’s fingers absently tried for a rhythm, tried to find something close to playing, even sitting at the bench. But he knew he was little more than a child making noise.

“Do you play?” A voice asked from the doorway.

Jon bolted to his feet, turning to bow or some gentlemanly thing. He felt foolish once he found himself looking at the floor. What was he doing? Who ever this was, it wasn’t the queen, he didn’t have to bow.

He felt as though he could do nothing right today. A great trait for a man to have on his wedding day. Jon stood back up and looked at his intruder.

She was stunning. Clearly this was his bride to be, as her looks matched her brother’s, with her silver-blonde hair and violet eyes. But as she walked closer Jon noticed that no, Daenerys’ eyes weren’t like her brother’s, they were a pale lilac color. His eyes trailed over her dress, which fit her figure quite flatteringly, as well as exposing her shoulders.

Well, maybe his father had been right about another thing: Daenerys Targaryen was gorgeous.

She played a simple melody on the piano keys and Jon asked, “Do you play?”

“Of course I do,” she smiled as if at a private joke. “All proper young ladies know how to play piano.”

“Is that what you are? A proper young lady?” Jon didn’t know why he asked it, but when he saw Daenerys’ thoughtful look, he felt as though it was the right thing to do.

She looked at Jon, studying his reaction as she answered, “Perhaps. I certainly can be if I wish to act as one, which isn’t very often.”

Jon smirked, pleased by the teasing tone. Maybe this marriage wouldn’t be a disaster. He looked up to see a pretty African woman standing in the doorway, watching them. A chaperone, Jon thought. Proper though it seemed a little silly to him. Within a few hours he was expected to consummate his marriage to this woman. What did it matter even if he did take liberties now? 

The upper class had strange rules, Jon was finding out. 

Daenerys noticed his gaze and asked the woman nicely, “Missandei, I don’t suppose we could have a moment alone?”

“Of course,” she said with a bow of her head.

The women exchanged small, secret smiles that Jon could begin to understand. The woman went out the door, closing it behind her. Daenerys turned to Jon, fiddling with her hands, clearly a little nervous.

Jon wondered if she’d ever been alone with a man before, at least one she wasn’t related to. He cleared his throat and then nodded to the door Missandei left through. “Is she one of the American slaves you freed?” At her curious look, Jon quickly explained. “Grey Worm was telling us about your work with the abolition league.” Jon couldn’t remember the name of it.

Daenerys seemed to light up on the topic, and began talking almost too fast for Jon to even understand. “It’s horrible. Do you know they whip children and enslave even freedmen against their will? I’ve read Douglass, Stowe and Northup’s accounts. All so terrible. I can’t believe such terrible barbarian practices still exist in this modern day and age. The queen and king of course support us completely. And we’ve written with several American representatives. Why I read a letter from Thaddus Stevens just the other day. Though his speech is a little...uncouth.”

Jon was a bit taken aback by her passion, but he had to admit, also intrigued and aroused by it. What would this woman be like in the bedroom if this was the passion she showed for a cause she believed in?

He looked away, quickly embarrassed by his dirty thoughts. Daenerys was a lady, what could he possibly be thinking?

Daenerys took it the wrong way, quickly backtracking. “I’m sorry. I know I get a bit carried away. Viserys is always telling me that I need to tone it down or no man will ever want me.”

Jon was quick to reassure her. “That isn’t it. I quite admire your cause and your passion for it. I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a slight disadvantage though. I don’t aspire to do anything so noble.”

“So what do you do?”

“I help my father with his business mostly.” Jon picked at the sleeve on his fine suit jacket. It was new and uncomfortable, and not something Jon was used to wearing. He preferred the easy uniform of the docks of a simple shirt and trousers with scuffed boots. He felt like an impostor in all this finery. 

“Which is?”

“Shipbuilding. Britain has the greatest navy in the world, no reason not to make a profit off of it, my father likes to say. He says the Americans will be going to war soon, which should be good for our business.”

Daenerys frowned, “Good for business?” 

Jon was embarrassed by what his father said, he wanted to better explain himself, but he didn’t have the words. He wasn’t built for this, not wooing a beautiful woman nor occupying the world she lived in. “I mean...it’s horrible...obviously, but…” Jon flustered and looked away from her, hoping that would help.

It didn’t help. He just found himself angry with his father, a common emotion for Jon. “I hate being a Baratheon,” he confessed. “I’d rather be a bastard than one.”

Daenerys’ eyebrow raised and she bit her lip. Before she said shyly, “You could take my name instead. I know it’s not traditional, but you’re marrying me for my name after all.”

Jon Targaryen. He smiled at the thought. “My father would love that,” he laughed at the thought of his father’s red face. Then he thought of his mother, “My mother might actually approve as well.”

His smile softened, which Daenerys must have noticed. “You seem to care for your mother a great deal.”

“Aye, she’s a wonderful woman.”

“Rhaegar said she used to be a bit wild in their youth. Still true?”

Jon smiled, thinking of how his mother could out ride all of her brothers when they ventured up north to visit the Stark family. “Aye,” he confirmed. Remembering his manners he asked after her family, “You seem close to Rhaegar. I already mistook him for your father.”

She smiled softly, matching Jon’s look of fondness. “It’s a common mistake. Rhaegar is both a father and brother to me. He’s everything to me.” A darkness clouded her face suddenly. “It’s too bad Viserys didn’t inherit any of Rhaegar’s fine qualities.” 

“Viserys?”

“My other brother,” Daenerys explained. 

“When is he scheduled to arrive?” Jon asked, wondering if this other brother

Daenerys snorted. “Hopefully never. But who knows with him.”

Jon dropped the subject, as clearly it clearly wasn’t a good one with her. She seemed to swallow her back her anger however (Rhaegar used the same trick, Jon thought), and asked, 

“Do you have any siblings?” 

“Half-siblings, but no full ones.” Daenerys’ look of confusion made Jon continue. “My mother considered her wifely duties finished after she had me. My father found comfort elsewhere.”

Her hands came into tight fights and then she said firmly, “I don’t want a marriage like that. I would prefer a divorce than you shaming me with other women.” 

Jon nodded. “I would never shame you, Dany.”

The nickname slipped out without much thought. Jon began to apologize before he saw her smile. He then talked of his northern cousins who were as good as siblings for him. Daenerys took a seat at the piano bench and Jon joined her. 

She began to play, as Jon’s stories of the north trailed off. He watched her delicate hands dance over the keys instead. Jon didn’t recognize the song, but then why would he? Robert hadn’t ensured he had anything resembling a refined education. The only reason Jon had any refinement at all was because his mother insisted on some lessons once he was engaged to a Targaryen. 

Jon tugged at the suit he wore again. How did men wear such clothing regularly? Even Daenerys’ brother seemed born in his fine clothing, not a hint of discomfort. Is that what she expected from a man? From her husband? Daenerys clearly adored her brother and Jon knew he’d never be able to live up to that example of a refined gentleman.

Daenerys finished and Jon didn’t know what to do. Was he supposed to clap? It seemed too much so he merely bent over and said, “You play beautifully.”

Daenerys blushed prettily at the compliment. “Thank you, Jon.”

Jon found he quite like how Daenerys said his name. 

Missandei came in again, and like a fool, Jon jumped to his feet again to bow. He felt even more ridiculous doing this a second time, but he saw Daenerys’ violet eyes dance with amusement and it was almost worth the humiliation. 

* * *

Daenerys found herself in the same position she’d been in not long ago as Missandei threaded baby’s breath into Daenerys’ new braids. “I don’t understand why we have to do this twice. We should have just done all this this morning. Why bother with the first outfit and different hair and all that?”

“It’s bad luck for a groom to see his bride in her wedding finery before the wedding,” Missandei said. 

Daenerys gave an unladylike snort, knowing it was safe to do around Missandei. “Oh yes, one meeting before the wedding. That will ensure a great marriage.”

“I don’t know, you seemed to get along with Mr. Baratheon quite well.”

Daenerys blushed at the light accusation. She couldn’t deny that her fiance was quite handsome and he seemed kind and thoughtful. She’d enjoyed his stories of the north and his family there as it obviously meant more to him than his work or his father.

Thank God for that, Daenerys thought. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to go through with the wedding if Jon admired his father and acted just like him. Robert Baratheon’s behavior had almost been enough for Daenerys to call off the wedding then and there. But Jon seemed different. She might have suspected that perhaps Jon just hid it better, but the man’s awkward manners made it clear that Jon probably couldn’t hide anything of his character even if he wanted to.

“He’s quite...” Daenerys paused unsure of what she wanted to say, what word she wanted to use to describe Jon. “He’s not what I imagined.”

“Oh,” Missandei said, her sly, knowing smile made Daenerys laugh.

“He is handsome, but he also seems genuine. I always thought I would only be happy with a man like Rhaegar. Jon reminds me of him, but he also seems like his own man. I like that.” Daenerys blushed, unused to speaking about men this way. 

Missandei finished her hair and Daenerys admired it in the mirror. “Another work of art. Thank you, Missandei.” Daenerys grinned. “You’ll have to let me know when it’s your turn to marry so I can return the favor and braid your hair for once.”

Missandei looked down, blushing, “It may be sooner than you think.”

Daenerys turned, nearly shrinking in excitement, “Really?”

“Grey Worm proposed two weeks ago,” Missandei confessed shyly. “He wants to save up and buy me a real piece of jewelry, but I told him that I’d be happy with a piece of tin, as long as he was my husband.”

Daenerys threw her arms around her friend, more excited for her friend marrying the man she loved then her own impending marriage. “That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you.”

When Daenerys pulled back Missandei’s grin matched her own, before she took Daenerys’ bouquet from the vanity and handed it to the bride. “This is your day. Let’s get you married.”

Daenerys took a deep breath and walked out of her room.

* * *

Jon was avoiding his father. He couldn’t stand to hear one more piece of bawdy advice about his wedding night. The gentlemen had retired to the parlor before the ceremony for cigars and brandy. Jon never could stand the stench of cigars, and even the promise of good brandy wasn’t worth sharing space with his father.

He wished the Starks were here. Aside from his mother, he considered them his real family. But most of them were in school, as Ned Stark had very different ideas than his best friend about what constituted a real education. 

Jon wandered the house, learning more about Targaryen history from what hung on the walls then he even realized existed. There were portraits of noblemen and women, as well as knights and family. They also appeared to have a minor (or seriously deranged, depending on one’s point of view) obsession with dragons as they were all over the place. Jon figured that he and Daenerys would get a new place, in fact, Lyanna had hinted to him that a small townhouse was to be his parents’ wedding present to the new couple, but Jon thought he could live here if necessary.

He just wondered what Lyanna thought of it. 

As though his thoughts drew her out, he turned the corner and saw her staring at a portrait. Jon said nothing, but looked at her questioningly, before standing by her side to look at the portrait with her. 

It was a Targaryen, of that Jon had no doubt, given the silver hair and violet eyes. A man stood in the middle, very early middle ages warrior-looking, and two women stood on either side of him. 

“Aegon I,” Lyanna said. “The first Targaryen anyone bothers remembering. It’s said he was Alfred the Great’s right hand as he conquered the island. It was even rumored that his sisters participated in the fighting and politics as much as he did. A more scandalous rumor was that Aegon shared a bed with them as well as his lawful wife.”

Jon nodded at the brief history lesson, but wondered what about this picture drew his mother in and made her look so wistful. 

“Did I ever tell you that I ran off the night before my wedding?”

“You didn’t have to. Everyone knew the story.” Jon couldn’t count how many times and how many versions of the tale he’d heard. Brandon liked to brag about how he’d saved Jon’s mother from disgrace and Robert liked to remind him not to be like his mother and forget his duties in a fit of emotion. Even his favorite uncles Ned and Benjen talked about it from time to time, although always with a hint of sadness.

“Yes, but I don’t think you ever heard me tell it.” Lyanna sighed before taking a deep breath and began, “I didn’t want to marry Robert Baratheon. I mean, I knew what I was getting into. I saw him better than Ned did, who swore his best friend would stop whoring around once he married.” Jon grew red with anger. He hadn’t realized that his mother knew so much about his father’s habits. “But I was young and still had a romantic heart. So on the night I climbed on our fastest horse and left. Brandon, of course, chased after me and found me at a nearby inn. He dragged me back and I was married the next day. I cried through the entire ceremony.”

It hurt Jon to hear this story from his mother so matter-of-factly. He wanted to change it for her, wanted to save her from the heartbreak, even if it erased him from existence. 

“What most don’t know, what almost no one knows, is that I wasn’t alone at that inn.” Jon’s eyebrows shot up as he turned to stare at his mother, really listening now. “I ran off with Rhaegar Targaryen.” Jon’s heartbeat dropped and his breathing stopped. “I loved him. And he loved me.He was married, but he told me that he would divorce Elia to be with me. He would suffer the scandal for our love.” Lyanna chuckled, bowing and shaking her head. “We were young fools in love. It never would have worked. It was a good thing Brandon never found out he’d been there with me, or Rhaegar probably would have been shot by my hot-headed brother.”

Jon had a million questions and nothing to say in response to that story. His racing mind finally picked something out and he asked, “Who knows?”

“Only Rhaegar and Robert, as far as I know.” She laughed bitterly this time. “I screamed the truth at Robert when I kicked him out of my bed that last night. He ranted and raved, even hit me, but I knew he’d never tell. He’d never allow such a blow to his pride to be public. That his wife picked Rhaegar Targaryen. It’s why he hates them so much, all the Targaryens.”

Jon still wasn’t sure he could process all this new information, wondered why his mother chose this moment to tell him. “So why am I marrying one?”

“I suggested it. It’s no secret that the Targaryens are increasingly cash-strapped. I may have alluded that you marrying Daenerys would somehow lead to Robert getting one over Rhaegar.” Lyanna smirked, always please to put her husband down, before she turned to Jon. She caressed his face gently, as she had when he was much younger, as well as making his hair neater. Her hand came to rest on his cheek and her thumb wiped away the tear that dripped from one of Jon’s eyes.

He wasn’t sure when he’d even teared up. “It’s my gift to you, my sweet boy. To marry the love I couldn’t.” 

Jon took his mother’s hand away, shaking his head. “Just because you loved him doesn’t mean that I’ll love her.”

“But you do and you will, Jon.” Lyanna’s eyes were sad. “You were holding hands when you joined us again after you met. And I checked her out before I arranged this. She’s a fierce little thing, your soon-to-be wife. But she’s also a proper lady with a gentle heart. It was as though she was made for you, and you will love her with your whole heart, Jon. I just know it.”

Jon took his mother’s hand. “No, you will always be in my heart, mother.” He leaned over and kissed his mother’s cheek, which had its own tear falling down it now. “You will always be the first woman I loved, no matter what I may feel for Daenerys.”

Lyanna smiled before wiping her tears away and announcing. “Enough crying and emotions. Let’s get you married.”

Jon escorted his mother to his wedding. He would make her proud and happy today, and forever after. 

* * *

The wedding was simple, and the marriage, against some heavy odds, was happy. 


End file.
